Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Bless him, Rhys tried not to look offended. But Meredith—who had no problem looking him in the face for hours on end—thought she caught a fleeting wince.
“Good morning, Miss Dunn,” he said gently. “That was indeed the church bell. I was just preparing to walk over. If Mrs. Maddox will join me.”
Meredith twisted the apron in her hands. “But the baking …”
“Is all finished, ma’am.” Cora smiled.
“Is it now? That’s convenient.” Rhys cocked an eyebrow. “The resourceful Miss Dunn has finished the baking. You’re free.”
He offered Meredith his arm.
She stared at it.
A tense silence filled the room, expanding like a bubble until it encompassed them all—Meredith, Rhys, Gideon, Cora. No one seemed willing to prick it.
“I’m new to the village,” Cora finally put in, even as her voice faltered. “I’d be obliged if you’d show me the way to the church, my lord. That is … if you reckon they’d allow a girl like me inside.”
Meredith wanted to bury her face for shame. A whore-turned-serving girl was correcting her manners.
“Well,” Rhys said, clearing his throat. He offered Cora the same arm Meredith had declined. “We’ll do this, Miss Dunn. I’ll step over the threshold first. If the ground doesn’t open up and suck me down to hell straightaway, it ought to be safe for you.”
With a brave smile, Cora cautiously linked her arm with his. “Thank you, my lord. That’s very good of you, I’m sure.”
The two of them started for the door.
“We’ll all walk together,” Meredith blurted out. Hurrying round the bar, she nudged Gideon from his stool and jammed her arm through his. “All four of us.”
When he tried to withdraw his arm, she dug her fingernails into his sleeve. She knew he hadn’t darkened the church door since the old vicar left, but he would fall to his knees in prayer today. Even if she had to knock his legs out from under him.
Tugging Gideon forward, Meredith shut up the tavern, then hurried to keep step with Rhys and Cora as they entered the courtyard. What a party they made: a lord, a whore, a smuggler, and a widow, all walking to the church. It was like the prelude to some bizarre, blasphemous joke that would only sound more humorous with successive pints of cider.
As it was, Meredith had a hard time not releasing a drunken giggle as they stepped through the entrance. Surprisingly enough, the earth did not open to swallow them all in one efficient gulp. As had been the custom in Buckleigh-in-the-Moor since long before Meredith’s time, the men occupied one side of the church, and the ladies sat opposite. She took it upon herself to separate Cora from Rhys’s arm and herded her down a narrow wooden pew. Across the aisle, her father and Darryl sat in one of the first rows. Father caught her eye and gave her an approving nod.
When Rhys took his seat at the end of the same pew, Meredith worried for a moment that his colossal bulk would act as the trigger for a catapult, launching Father and Darryl into the air.
It didn’t, but there was a creaking moment of concern.
Gideon didn’t join their group. He eased into the row behind, crossing his arms over his chest. His surly expression matched his posture of disrespect.
It did something strange to her insides, just gazing at them all, seated so close together. Despite their differences and their ambivalence toward one another, she cared for all four men, in different ways. She liked having them all in her sights at one time.
Darryl drew her attention with a frantic wave. His eyes shilling-wide, he pointed at Cora. “Who’s that?” he mouthed.
“Cora,” she said back. “New barmaid.”
The youth stared, his jaw gone slack with sentiments that had no place in a house of God.
Darryl’s weren’t the only eyes fixed on Cora, either. Throughout the sanctuary, every man’s eyes held a look of fascinated rapture. Every woman’s gaze burned with envy. Church and tavern attendance were likely to go up during Cora’s stay, she’d wager.
When the curate took the pulpit, she noticed that he and Rhys exchanged little nods of greeting, as though they’d been already introduced. Perhaps Rhys had taken it upon himself to greet the clergyman earlier—it would make sense that he had, if he were determined to start fulfilling the role of local lord.
Perhaps he truly did mean to stay.
Gideon’s words echoed in her ear. He’s the other kind, Merry. The leaving kind.
Despite all the excitement and confusion of the morning, as the service began, she remembered why she so rarely attended anymore—for the same reason she read her newspapers standing up. As hard as she labored day in and day out, if she sat still for more than three minutes at a stretch, her body interpreted it as an invitation to doze. During the first reading, somewhere between “begat” and “spake,” it was as though her chin grew a thick coating of lead. Her neck muscles simply refused to hold it up.